


Undoing

by KestrelGirl



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Body Horror, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Gen, Gore, Illustrations, Mind Control, Mordrem (Guild Wars), Sylvari (Guild Wars), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KestrelGirl/pseuds/KestrelGirl
Summary: Morwenna spent her life as a restless hitwoman without a purpose - until Mordremoth called. It could take her mind, but it couldn't change her body. And when the jungle dragon can't shape a sylvari from afar, its champions must work its horrifying will in person...Note: In-game screenshots and screenshot edits within, including one depiction of severe eye trauma.I have since rewritten this story. https://archiveofourown.org/works/22947628
Kudos: 2





	Undoing

I was one of so many who heeded the Call. Our Master’s voice lured me in, promising power and domination over all my kind.

My body obeyed, but it refused to shift into what my mind - what Mordremoth - told me was a superior form. I gained an unnatural amount of height and my muscles swelled as I marched further into the jungle, and my eyes brightened from faded opal to a glittering array of oranges, yellows, greens. By the time I reached the center of His domain, I was well over six feet tall. But nothing else changed: no woody armor, no twisted grin to shatter my visage. Mordremoth had to start the process in person. For a moment I mourned myself, fearing I would not survive, but the dragon’s voice silenced me. After all, no one who submitted to the torture of reshaping could have ever known the unimaginable horrors it had in store for them.

A fiendishly tall figure approached as I entered the blighting chamber, a voluptuous mockery of a human woman. Diarmid, the blademaster. Her fellow sylvari had watched her die when the Pact fleet went down. The dragon made use of her corpse, twisting it into one of His foremost warriors. Her hair grew into an extravagant wooden crest, but this did not distract from… where her features _used_ to be: they were erased, but for a single nightmarish yellow eye and a rotted grimace. They weren’t with Diarmid, but I’d seen Mordremoth’s other two champions, who had suffered similar fates. The already-hulking axemaster, Hareth, was bloated beyond recognition and covered in glowing red boils. Stavemaster Adryn’s torso was a withered mass of blighted scarwood, and spidery hands had pushed their way out of the nape of his neck, putting out his eyes and replacing them with one like Diarmid’s, an unblinking imitation.

Diarmid stood before me, a mere grunt, and I cowered in fear. The voice in my head told me this was necessary, but how much pain would it take?

A troll-like vinetender cast its hand toward the floor and raised it up, summoning a bench. The creature did not speak, only motioned me to lie down.

 _This was what my Master wanted me to be._ I would have to bear it.

“Let us begin.” The dragon champion’s voice resonated within her twisted body. The vinetender summoned restraints that curled around my arms and ankles, and Diarmid unsheathed two slim blood-red blades, her tools of the trade.

_Blades…?_

The screaming started before they could even touch me. Diarmid bellowed over me: “Oh, shut up.”

It felt like an eternity before the nightmare began.

The swords cut from breast to knee on each side, then up my backside to the base of my spine. Diarmid cut white bark from coral heartwood, and shaped my skin - _what had been_ my skin - into a ragged and hanging coat of decay. Mordremoth held his grip over my mind, an unbearably heavy presence that would not let me flinch or struggle. Teeth pushed their way up from the sap-reddened edges, and the blighted bark now merged again with my body in a searing fusion. Two curving slices across my flanks, winding from back to front, swelled into putrid bone-vines that tightened like snakes, taking my breath away and forcing me to feel every gash Diarmid made, rather than dulling my suffering in a primal yell. I tensed up, trying to hide from this world of agony.

The whips of the twisted houndmasters lashed across my half-flayed legs, leaving naught but welts in their wake. The new growth would make me stronger, they said. My vision nearly faded from the pain, but Mordremoth’s control forced me awake.

Diarmid peeled away the flesh of my shoulders, and degloved my wrists, the sabers’ corruption bringing forth tumorous lumps and branching growths where once there had been bark. My forearms bubbled as they erupted into hideous pustules and choking vines. The growths sucked all feeling, _all life,_ from my fingers. The blademaster’s puncturing gouges into the nodules opened… an eye, a slit-pupiled eye where one absolutely should not be… two, three, _four?_

I looked on helplessly and cried out as she severed my choked, withered, _dying_ hands - yet immediately, spindly new palms and digits pushed from the engorged stumps, twitching like they had minds of their own. My stomach churned, but it was empty. Mordremoth had fueled me, and I hadn’t needed to eat in weeks. There was nothing that could come out.

A husk now held me face-down, and Diarmid stripped away the bioluminescent dapple that traced the bark of my spine. Bony plates pushed their way out in its place, in a parody of the spine of any other humanoid being on Tyria - but this was too long. I felt it rest on my shin, like a hound’s tail - and then what had been my bark warped, painfully, growing visceral crimson tissue to meet it.

The cruel edge of her blade now hung above my face as I whimpered, anticipating even more brutal incisions. _No,_ now she backed away - and released a blast of ley energy that stifled my howls in tendrils and leystone…

“A true stalker must be _silent.”_

* * *

The ley-growth ate away at my jaw and enveloped my nose, eroding my face like some sort of cancer. I wanted nothing more than to rip it off and breathe freely, to talk. All that came out were muffled wails.

It tunneled into my neck and took my voice three days later.

The growth became a grotesque mimicry of a lower jaw, with pores allowing air into the rotted hole where my nose had been. It was stiff and unmoving, and even developed a groove reminiscent of a mouth, as if to taunt me.

It did eventually open - but at the seams, after it had consumed half my skull. I stretched it as I looked into a pool of rainwater. I did not repeat that mistake. Would it someday grow a tongue, lips, a larynx, something else? I didn’t want to know.

* * *

All Mordremoth expected of me on my first mission was to kill one puny target. An insignificant Pact officer. 

My breath whistled through the pores of my living, growing mask as I prepared to strike from stealth -

My cloak of magic fizzled mysteriously. Was some device responsible? A voice called. “Mordrem! Be on alert!”

My unit panicked and scattered, taking heavy casualties from Pact fire. I leapt into the trees to make my escape, the fresh scars on my legs welling with sap from the effort. 

_I had failed._ My punishment was to be whatever the Blademaster wished.

I was herded back to the blighting chamber. I would have screamed and resisted, if only I could. Once again, Diarmid stood towering over me. After all she did to me, what new pain could she inflict - sever a limb?

 _No!_ **-** her sabers sank into my eye sockets, two excruciating flashes of pain as she _laughed,_

and the world -

went -

_dark._

****

* * *

An eye opened. I was still in the chamber.

No, this was wrong. They were _gone._ My mind reeled and tried to adjust as the sick air entered my empty eye sockets.

But the familiar flutter was coming from my misshapen wrists.

How cruel it was, that somehow Mordremoth still had a use for such a pitiful, tormented creature.

_The dragon sees all…_


End file.
